Infatuate Infection
by Master Crocuta
Summary: The town of Silent Hill holds many mysteries in itself, but can one truly uncover every secret buried under its hidden crannies? And what's all this talk about a New Beginning? [Complete!]
1. Evolution

Hello, hello! –Waves frantically- If you're here, reading this, than I truly thank you for taking your time to do so. This is my first Silent Hill fanfiction, and I have tried terribly hard on it…if you talk to anyone that knows me, you'll find that I'm quite obsessed with the game series. I hope to do it justice, and possibly not disgrace it to any extent. Well, enough with my ramblings…enjoy! And don't forget to review, peasie!

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Couldn't move…

Couldn't think…

His limbs were rigid, like wood—no, like stone…stubborn, stubborn stone. They refused, and he pushed desperately in useless attempt, but alas he was glued to the filthy spot in which he lay. Fluttering eyes longed to stay awake, and although the heavy air weighed upon their wavering lids, they could not stand to close…closing would mean sleeping. And sleeping was not good. Not in a place like this, not ever.

His upper body began to move on its own, to its own dazed rhythm, to the beat of the room pounding, not like foreign drums from far away, but like an excited and dancing heart. Hearts were indeed alive…this room was alive.

The walls were of plaster, but the outside looked like a soft mold of flesh where beyond the surface long lines of veins trailed from floor to ceiling, pumping, beating, and causing the walls to bleed in delicate trickles. They were like little red rivers coursing down their path casually, some dripping from the ceiling and landing softly on the tip of his nose. It was warm, almost hot, so much that he had to jerk back from avoiding the falling drops.

He could hear the loud thumping of the room, every single pounding beat—all around him, the soft area vibrated with life. The pads on the walls were made to look comforting, welcoming, safe. Each crack looked as if they were about to sprout spiny arms, grasp him with curling fingernails, and pry him slowly from his roost on the floor to drag him away in the void he knew existed. There was an existence unknown, he knew…he had said so before, over and over, babbling on nonsense and yet was this image in front of him "nonsense"? Was it truly reality, or a twisted way of showing that his sanity was already being destroyed? Hadn't it been destroyed, years ago, when they had sent him to this horrid place? It was not very unlike his dreams. But this was not a dream…he had woken up to this.

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The day had actually started out very nice, really. All of the people of Brookhaven Hospital were given the opportunity to sleep in late, which they quite enjoyed, and afterwards most trudged to the local kitchen to receive their usual breakfast of mush, and to their utter surprise, a real piece of fruit. Or…it looked like a fruit—no one could identify what the substance was, but most foods that are of a red and orange color are usually classified as fruits. Raephin had taken the risk of tasting it, and to his shock it actually didn't taste so bad…maybe a little mold here and there, but altogether the juices were enough to add some taste to the meal. He'd wondered if the cooks were in an exceptionally good mood today.

After the morning meal, they'd been rushed back to their rooms, being told that a "technical difficulty" had occurred. He was still somewhat sleepy, stumbling along with the others and keeping an eye out for his roommate. The other had been sitting with him at the table, but had vanished when he had turned his head to figure out what the uproar in the cells had been about.

Number Fifty-Two—the male who shared his room—was a nice and quiet boy who hardly ever spoke a word, unless he was asked. The boy was young, too, only around eighteen when he had come to the hospital…he hadn't been there long. Maybe a few months at the most. His eyes were a dull gray, and the black of his messily cut hair was fading, as if from lack of sunlight—which they most obviously did lack. When he'd first came to the Hospital, he had stuttered a lot…always talking, always mumbling something or another, which Raephin truly never took the effort to understand. The boy was crazy, he figured. Crazy like the rest of 'em.

What caught Raephin's eye at first glance, though, was Fifty-Two's right stub of an arm when he had come silently through the large double doors of Brookhaven. He was a kind fellow that forced a shaky smile, but he never talked about his arm directly to anyone. Once Raephin had asked, and the boy had just stared at him for the longest moment, and then began to babble on about some sort of nook in the padded room, which of course was not there.

"Where could Stub-boy be…?" Raephin's mutter was veiled by the loud shouts of the other residents of the hospital, and for this he was grateful. He was tired of the guards and their droning complains about 'not running' and 'staying silent' when they were done with their food. He didn't want to hear it anymore. He felt like he was going insane, just being here. See, if one weren't truly screwy before he was sent to this place, he sure as hell would end up becoming it if he ever left.

Same old room, same old rusty padded walls, and same old collection of plastic forks, which he stashed in the corner of the room secretly. He tossed yet another into the messily built pile, collapsing beside it to count absent-mindedly. It was fairly odd that he had a strange yet addictive attraction to forks, but what other obsession could one possibly have in a place like this? He literally had to sneak them off the table at mealtimes—although he doubted they would actually care if he did. They were plastic, after all, for the "safety of the mentally unstable patients".

A few moments later, after repeatedly counting the prongs—which he could have sworn was four a day ago but had narrowed down to three…or was it two—Fifty-Two had rushed in with wide eyes, door slamming behind and giving Raephin little time to notice if a guard had escorted his friend or not.

"Ooh, the soup! The rolled-back eyes, massed hair…lips ajar, floor dirty, wet, choking words…fog, lots of fog, and guards too…!"

Raephin interrupted immediately, having been lost from the very start. "Fifty-Two, slow down…slow down and repeat what you're trying to say." He blinked, knowing the boy probably would just say the same words over, only slower.

Fifty-Two took a deep breath. "Seventeen, I…he…they…technical difficulties!"

"Yeah, so what? They told us that this morning…and where were you?" Raephin was trying to put all of this together. It was like a very wet, soggy puzzle that wouldn't stick together.

The black-haired boy scrunched his face up in thought. "'Member Mr. Sullivan…? Killed two kids, nut, said he didn't do it neither!"

Raephin had to sit back and look up in thought for a minute or two. The man with the long hair, dirty…he supposed he could. He sure was on the news a lot, though. "Yeah, go on…what about him?"

"Well," Fifty-Two yawned and scratched at the bandages clinging to his stub. "There's a rumor going around that he snuck a soup spoon from the table some few days ago, and this morning he had stabbed himself in the neck with it…think they called it the carotid artery, they said he hit…got stuck two inches in when they found him. They heard it from T-Toluca Prison—where he's at, y'know—and so they're goin' 'round to check the cells for utensils right now."

Raephin's—or Number Seventeen's— eyes widened as he scooted over protectively in front of his collection. "Right now?" Eyes darted this way and that, trying to find somewhere…anywhere to hide his precious possessions! They couldn't take his forks…it was what kept him occupied throughout the day. The guards didn't give the patients any books or newspapers or anything of the sort, thinking that perhaps it would feed their ever-growing hunger for freedom. What was he going to do?

A question popped back to him, one that had slipped from his mind when Fifty-Two had told of the problem that morning. "So, where were you? You never told me…they didn't let anyone stay back to watch it on the guard's television, did they?"

"Not anyone, no…" the boy jerked his head down, refusing to meet his roommate's gaze. "T-The doctor…he called me in for examination, that's all. That's all, yes…'s all…"

Raephin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The doctors usually called in for checkups in the afternoon, but…what else could the boy have been doing? Such a day was getting weirder by the second…why, the town was filled with an overly large amount of fog from what he'd seen when stealing a glance out of one of the cafeteria windows. The place did have its share of mist, but never so much as he'd seen that morning. Walking out, one could probably choke on the stuff if they had the chance.

He settled himself comfortably on the filthy ground in front of his forks, making sure they were hidden from view, and began fiddling with his pant leg thoughtfully. "So that Fourteen guy…committed ten murders, didn't he? Was always whining on about his mother, too. Some of the people here really annoy me, y'know? Like that old guy who used to tell of the one really, really old legend…do you remember that one, Fifty-Two? I told it to you when you settled in for a few weeks, here. I heard it myself from that old resident when I first came. Something about a little girl the hospital experimented on long time ago…she got burned, I think, and was kept down in the basement with a really hot nurse. That's just what I heard, though. Bizarre words bounce all over the place here, though, so you really don't know what to believe."

There was a long pause. A wavering silence seemed to stretch throughout the whole hospital, and perhaps beyond. It was as if the whole world had gone mute for the moment. "…Fifty-Two?"

Raephin looked up. His roommate was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Exploration

Once more, hello everyone! Not many are reading this—but then against it just started, so what am I saying?—but I've decided to continue for the special few who actually are. Thank you for reading, and also thanks for the reviews, and the advice that was given. I always like a piece of information I can add for the people that are confused.

Disclaimer: So much as I'd like to claim Silent Hill, and Vincent and Walter along with it, I'm afraid none of them are mine. However, my fork-obsessed Raephin and dear Fifty-Two are, indeed, my own. We also have two new characters joining the group, so that lovely pair I claim as well. Enjoy…and don't forget to review! –Cheesy grin-

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Could he get up?

…_Should_ he get up?

The air's pressure seemed to thicken with every breath, every rasping inhale and exhale, slowly but surely living just one more precious moment—a moment not to be taken for granted. Raephin felt as if he needed all the time he could get. He felt as if he, himself, was living that odd, ancient legend of the little girl…not because he was being experimented on, no. It was because this world did not seem like his own.

The russet of his hair coated with dirt, so many messy strands hanging in the left of his eye, seeming to stand on the end, just as it bristled on the back of his neck. His hospital clothes were, surprisingly, fairly clean due to the wash they had had days ago when the guards collected the only pair of clothes each patient owned. The number Seventeen clung crookedly to his chest on a little, briefly made tag. It was who he was, this clumsy and careless excuse for a nametag. It was what represented his existence. Bandages, thick and tightly hugging to the skin—so much that beads of sweat constantly formed under the old material—lined his arms up and down in layers, as it did to his chest, half of his neck, and the upper-half of his legs. They were terrified that he would find some kind of way to gouge out his heart with one of the many plastic utensils they ate with at mealtime.

If his leg muscles would move—if they would just…push him a bit, hoist himself up to stand upright, perhaps he could get out of here. But…what if he was snatched back down? Grabbed by some sort of force, perhaps (for that's what seemed to be weighing down the room, and it rose a frightened jolt in his chest) to be thrust into a hellish hole of eternally glaring eyes and blazing—he _would_ get up.

Trembling, shaky at the knees, his body forced to rise. It was as if he was lifting pounds atop his sagging shoulders, trying to shove him down, heaving at his worn body, but getting nowhere. He had to get out of this place…had to see what was going on.

Raephin's overwhelmed body staggered, slammed into the cell door—and his eyes widened as he watched it slide open. Creaking, slowly letting a slit of freshly scented air rush into the room. Freshly? There was a dire stench in the air. He let his hand reach out closer, closer, until the door was pulled back and he could peek out into what he assumed would be a hallway full of dozing guards. He couldn't have been farther from the truth.

His heart was racing, heaving itself against his chest with so much force that he had to keep in an expected cough—but it was not only his anxiety that caused his breath to skip, but also the vile stench that was lingering in the air. It was the smell of death, the disgusting scent of excrement and rotten foods, of decay. Such was a mixture of an unnamed stink that he could hardly bear to breath, much less identify.

The startled boy dared to take a step from his room, cautious gaze scanning the dramatically changed hallway. The walls were dark, rusted, as if they'd been sitting there for hundreds of years unattended—but it was nothing like the walls of his cell. The floors, always clean, always so tidy, were now beyond filthy…there were masses of brown and red, much like veins, shoved between the cracks of tiles and overflowing with what looked to be…puss?

He carefully watched where he stepped as he made his way down the hall. It was quiet, fearfully silent. It was worse than silence…but he couldn't possibly explain such stillness. What was worse than silence, when silence was what accompanied him now? It was more like an intensified patience. He was waiting for someone to come, perhaps explain what the hell was happening and why he was in the middle of it all. Could this really be the same hospital he had just been in, moments before, worrying over the nearing guards and their harsh words?

"In a dream…I've got to be. In a _nightmare_…" Raephin's whisper hardly carried throughout the hall as he made his way through with observance. Some of the other cell doors were open, or cracked, but whenever he chose to look inside one nothing was there. It was as if the patients had just vanished, along with guards. Maybe they had disappeared. Or perhaps, just maybe, there was an emergency, or some kind of danger that gave them reason to rush out so quickly, and—but that wouldn't explain why Fifty-Two wasn't there when he raised his head. He hadn't heard the door open or close when he was trying to remember the tales from long ago. They couldn't possibly have been invaded. That was an absurd idea.

After searching the cells and employee rooms and finding not a single soul at all, he briskly ambled down to where the kitchen doors were located, settling his ear gently to the surface and biting his lower lip in deep concentration. Eyes squinted, limbs rigid, he put all strain into trying to hear a human voice on the other side.

Ah! There was noise! Something was on the other side, something alive, breathing! However…it did _not_ seem to sound like the mumbling, shouting, or rambling of a noise relative to humanity. It was a sound his ears did not favor. Reaching out, he pushed the doors open wide, hesitant to see what was on the other side.

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"You need to be _quiet_!"

"What, Ryland? You think someone's gonna hear us out _here_?"

The fog was thick. Like chunks of bulky cloud, the mist floated amongst the air of the gloomy atmosphere, causing the environment to look all the more eerie. Rounded lumps of stone sprouted from the almost grassless ground where the maggots roamed, and on these stones were the names and dates engraved of the people long past. Standing among the fog and the murkiness were two figures cloaked in dark clothing, one hunched and the other jerking its head right and left in watch warily.

"Roth, we're in a graveyard! Be a little intelligent, will you? The Beginning approached us without warning, but that gives you no reason to blunder around carelessly and exclaim that the town is absolutely empty!" Ryland shifted weight to her other foot and rested a hand on her hip as she glared furiously down at her bent-over brother. Her chestnut hair flopped past her shoulders and ended in a perfectly straight cut, indicating that her character would not stand to be less than "perfect"—or, perfect according to her standards. The sleek cloak that covered her completely showed no signs of blemish or dirt.

Roth's face twisted into a silly grin as he beamed up at his infuriated sister, the short, bright beard—tracing all the way up his cheekbones—giving him a somewhat mischievous look. Blazing hair, much like the color a raging wildfire would give off, hung off his shoulders and in his face in stringy strands. "Ah, bug off, Ry! The occult don't give a damn if we stir up a couple brawls 'round here…as long as we get our share done, there's nothing to worry about. Anyways, look at this place! The Beginning finally HAS begun! Although, from this view, it seems more like an end…" He patted at his stained clothing, all the while keeping that careless expression present.

"This is no time to joke," Ryland spat, raising a hand to thwack him over the head roughly. "We've been waiting all our lives for this moment…for this very time when we—"

"Well, I wouldn't say all our _lives_," Roth interrupted, applying pressure on the shovel propped in his arms and giving a meek shove. The spade's tip barely dug into the dry surface of soil.

"Since you were eleven, and I, ten. The occult has been our home for quite a time." His sister sighed, stepping back to observe their work. Her older sibling had created a small indent in the ground, but that was all. They'd been standing there for an hour and a half. "I don't think digging a hole was the brightest idea you've had so far…"

"It wasn't my idea, exactly," the redhead shrugged lightly. "All they told us was to find evidence. Find some kind of proof of The Coming…you know this is the best we've found so far."

"We haven't even found it yet, Roth." The young girl of twenty-eight frowned and knelt down, running a slim finger through the clumps of dust coating the tombstone they stood over. "Who knows what our so-called evidence will look like when we finally find it?"

"It hasn't been that long ago," The older one reminded her, eyeing the sky thoughtfully. "Not really long at all."

"He was young when his death came," her voice seemed distant, attentive. "And they just…laughed. They laughed at him, Roth. Can you imagine what he felt like? He died, having to hear their laughs of mockery. His body could be nothing now. Nothing but decay…this could all be a waste of our time."

"No, no, Ryland…" Roth's eyes narrowed as he looked down to the words imprinted on the tombstone they lingered beside. "No…believe me, I have a feeling this will be much worth our time."

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The walls were crawling with worms. Raephin couldn't identify them with the same, gentle earthworms he'd seen in many of the biology textbooks he'd studied as a younger adult. They were long and wiry, shaped like tapeworms but writhing this way and that, the ends spurting bits of red and a nauseating yellow. They crawled in and out of the wall, as if sinking inside the flat surface one moment and coming out solid the next. They were massed in piles atop the wall—and he was both confused and quite surprised to see that not one had fallen to the ground below.

However, these creatures were not the source of the odd noises he had heard from the other side of the door. He turned his head, and then he knew. Yes. This was the… _thing _responsible. What exactly was it?

Its four-legged, canine-like body was bound in bandages, which were caked in a fresh covering of grime. In some places the creature's putrid, bulging skin—lightly sprinkled with what looked to be gray fur—found its way through the wraps and flopped uselessly at its sides while the beast moved. Raephin couldn't catch sight of the face of this frightening thing, but he could hear the sickening rips and tears, the crushing of powerful jaws as it grinded up its food. He stepped back, ready to turn and dash out as quickly as he possibly could.

Two heads whipped around in a chillingly swift motion, their little eyes—four of them, each in pairs—ablaze with hunger and an excitement for the kill they had just proclaimed. Ragged ears, the color of the little bristles of fur, which hung to the hanging skin, were laid back flat against bony skulls. Indeed, the faces of the two heads looked much like dogs. Same long snout, same lolling tongue…only, this creature had two necks attached onto one body, and the faces atop these necks did not look the least bit satisfied with their first meal. Raephin wasn't sure he could compare this thing entirely to the kind of dog he was used to.

One of the dangerous jaws clutched a slab of draping flesh, the sharp tip of bone sticking out from the end and fingers like little sausages decorating the other side—it was obviously an arm, with the hand still attached. A pudgy palm, with a few golden rings gleaming with chew marks on the top—probably a guard's arm, he figured. Nonetheless, it made him no more reassured. He didn't like the guards. But he also had a feeling that he wouldn't be on friendly terms anytime soon with this…this dog as well. Or, was it rather 'these dogs'? He didn't know if the thing was two beings, or one.

"Got to get out of here," he reminded himself, shifting his body so that he was ready to turn on his heels and leave, but as this was done, he noticed that the canine-thing had leapt for his back, both its mouths wide open in eager catch. His reaction was slow…never did have the quickest replies or actions or words. Couldn't have been his entire fault.

One of the jaws had latched onto his hand, its jagged-shaped teeth digging savagely past the surface and into the core, where the bone lingered, where the muscle broke tenderly. It caused his blood to bubble and flow out like a lazy fountain that wishes not to raise its sprout—just to collapse over the edge and splat to the ground where it lay to stink. His palm twitched this way and that, trying to escape from the dog-thing's grasp, all the while attempting to avoid the other head as it snapped at his chest.

It hurt like hell, that thing's tooth lodging itself against his fragile finger bone—the covering of the creature's teeth felt like multiple grains of sand. The kind of grain where it's been stepped on for so long, it starts to lose its warm, sun-tickled touch. He wouldn't doubt if the canine's tongue felt solely like the worst of sandpaper, either.

The creature's head jerked with every lashing yank he gave, holding on firmly and letting out a rumbling, menacingly low growl. With one, final pull, he wrenched backwards and fell, landing on his rear roughly with a howl of agony. Reaching up with a shaking hand, he watched as the gaping hole of what used to be his middle finger spat out thick fluids of crimson and infectious black, dripping down his palm and creating a small puddle beneath his quivering form. There was no time to think…no time for the unbearable pain that was stabbing at his nerves.

The creature leapt, swallowing what it had taken in only a second's time, and landed firmly onto Raephin's left leg, both heads making themselves comfortable as they clung to the bloody white pants with their uneven fangs.

It only taken him a moment, out of pure instinct, to reach down and snatch one of the forks he had been carrying when searching the halls—and obviously had dropped earlier when the thing had attacked him. His knuckles looked as if they were gasping for breath, white as they were, holding that handle like it was the last string of his dear life. One mistake, one slipping move, and that string would be snapped in half.

He slammed the fork down with all the force he could muster, aiming it carefully and scoring right into the left eye of the right head, the eyeball inside exploding and juices spilling over the socket. There was a loud, screeching yelp as the creature twisted away, one side of the creature half-blind and the other snarling at its companion to quiet it down. The clumsy thing staggered, tripped, and scrambled out of the kitchen—he could hear the shrieks all the way down the hall, and for this, he was almost amused. The loss of a finger prevented him from laughing out loud.

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They were vibrant colors, these childish drawings of flowers and small furry animals on the surrounding walls. They lightened the mood of such a dreary place, and although such a place did not have the same giggles and shrieking laughter as it did before, Fifty-Two could not help but crack a small smile.

Toys scattered the floor. They ranged from teddy-bears with the stuffing poking from buttoned eyes, to trains with most of the tiny windows cracked open and knocked off crooked plastic tracks. There were dolls with golden curls, and balls that had been beaten until the air was rushed out of them. Numerous cribs, maybe five or so, were stacked here and there, as if frozen in time, ready to be taken and set for the arriving, squealing babies. The creaking of a nearby, wooden swing broke the stretching peace.

In the center of all this, a small house made of timber was built firmly to the ground, as if it had been rooted as many of the tall and withered trees around the area had been. A dim, flicking light hung above the door—something to welcome. It welcomed all who approached such an old sight—a sight that claimed the name 'Hope House', or later changed as 'Wish House', which was scratched onto the wooden sign in front, which hung at the entrance as a sort of mark.

Fifty-Two let out a small sigh. For some reason, it felt just like home.


	3. Surprise, Surprise!

Yay for the third chapter! I don't think it's anything too terribly special, but we shall see…I suppose it's still necessary to the story. Thank you, all who are reading this, for taking your time to do so. I really do appreciate it!

Disclaimer: The characters are mine, but the town Silent Hill belongs to Konami. Yay for Konami! Also…review, review, REVIIIIEW! –rolls over- Peasie?

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Where was a damn map when you needed one? Raephin had been wandering around this place for what seemed like two and a half hours (Only counting the half because he stopped to examine some scattered papers that had been dropped in the hall—which were, not surprisingly—nothing special), and time was what he truly needed right now. Odd and vile creatures like the one before were lurking everywhere, and he had no time to fool around—only to get out of here, where he could find someone who would be able to help.

Every now and then the lights would go out, and his hand would have to clutch one of the many forks hanging at his belt for safety. Or perhaps he would come across a light bulb, dimming, flicking, off, on, off, on, off…this place really freaked him the hell out.

The hospital was silent. A sudden crash and a short yet shrill scream caused Raephin to jump in a startled motion, eyes widening as they darted around to search for the source. Stillness once more, though this time he felt as if there were some sort of…thick presence in the air. An existence one can only feel through fear and intensity and everything that makes up the shaking edginess of a person's mind. Was there something to see? Something to find? What if he ran into one of those…those _things _again? He was unsure of his decisions…there was something there, and perhaps there wasn't and it could have most likely been a nasty play of trickery on his own part.

Gradually, he made his way towards the room where the noise had come from.

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"E-Empty! What do you mean _empty_!"

"What do you think I mean?" Roth growled back impatiently to the sharp question his sister had spat. "I mean just what I said. Empty. Bare. Not there. Get it?"

"How could it be gone?" The worried female rushed up beside him, peeking over the edge of the now-large hole that her brother had dug. Inside, the scruffy man was bent over once more—as he had been when hauling dirt over his shoulder—and was examining the thin lid of the long, white box inside. "That's supposed to be his coffin, right?"

"Shitty coffin, but yeah, this is it," Roth replied slowly, thoughtfully. He turned the wooden lid over in his fingers. No dust…no blood, nothing. The whole coffin held an appearance of cleanliness, as if the dirt had made way and let the box stand on thin air. But that wasn't their problem, or at least at the moment it wasn't.

"But we must have gotten the wrong grave, then! There's nothing there, Roth! No body, no bones…not even a damn _hair_," Ryland fell to her knees and hesitated to say the rest of her sentence. She was very doubtful that they had chosen the wrong place to dig. But if that was so…than why wasn't there anything? The boy hadn't died a terribly long time ago…she had suspected there would be worms and maggots all over the inside, but there was absolutely nothing living. What would the others say about this? Would she and her brother get in trouble? What would be their punishment…?

"Well," her brother's yawning voice interrupted her anxious thoughts. "Better be going, then. There's nothing else to see here."

"What do you mean, 'we better get going'?" Ryland eyed her redhead sibling with surprise. "You can't be serious…aren't you worried about what's going to happen to us? Shouldn't we at least try to find another type of clue or maybe—"

"What's there to find?" Roth shrugged lightly. "We came here, did our job, found nothing. It's not our fault the body's not there, is it? We didn't take it out of its rightful place. Our leader will know what to do."

Ryland shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't sure the one who sent them out to do this would have any other plans…the leader wasn't exactly the trustworthiest of people, but then again, underestimating meant skipping ahead and putting yourself in danger. She didn't want to do that. "If you say so."

"Look, Ryland," Roth's eyes rolled up into his head in what seemed to be slight annoyance. Couldn't his sister ever lie back for once? She always had to be the one in front, or the one on top. There was no use in doing so. "We did what we had to do. The Beginning requires patience, as it made us wait for too many years to count. It's finally here, Sis, but that doesn't mean we can rush it. Let it flow, Ry, let it flow. Our time will come soon enough."

"Let's go back," Ryland sighed. "Maybe the Boss will know what to do."

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_…Creeeeak…_

A few dark, filthy roaches scuttled from the thin crack of the slowly opening door in front of him, and the dark leaked out to flow and swallow the hallway's atmosphere. Files were scattered on the wooden, polished floor—why was it polished? There was dust collected on the cabinets and tables—and dots of red were sprinkled on all four walls. Rusted, squirming, crawling like the walls in the kitchen…he shuddered, but was thankful to see that these walls, as he looked up to notice, were merely showered in droplets of blood and did not clone the walls he was imagining. Where had the scream come from?

Nothing here was able to make the sort of shriek he had just heard moments before—and yet, he could have sworn he had heard it with his own two perfectly normal ears. His attention drifted to different things—like the darkly printed notes that looked as if they had been thrown in rage all over the room's floor. He bent his knees, crouching low and eyes squinting to see what the little handwritten and messily organized papers had to say.

_Number 17's progress is unpredictable; this patient, when first arriving, had become very violent, resulting in fits and attempts of aggression when put in his proper cell. A very paranoid patient; history shows that he has attempted suicide five times in recent past; Mumbles and has breakouts, and shouting of some kind of 'New Beginning'. _

_Dr. Aubrey _

Raephin kicked the yellowing paper to the side when he was finished reading. Did they truly think him to be some kind of maniac? They recorded his every move! And for what? What were they trying to prove? He'd had dreams—no, nightmares—of something so similar to such a present moment that it was frightening. There would be whispers, sounds of the wind mouthing of a 'Beginning', and he'd wake up screaming his damned head off because of it. It was like…like some sort of alternative world, almost. Almost like he had been flipped and plopped right onto the surface of another planet…some sort of planet that knew nothing of a word called 'mercy'. Such a world was becoming a reality, and those stupid doctors were finally getting a taste of their own medicine—or so he hoped. He hadn't seen any of the bodies since he'd left the cell. Damn them to the deepest pits of Hell for doubting him.

Attempted five suicides in the past—ah, yes, maybe so, but wasn't it clever enough to do so before the time came? They had prevented him from taking his own life so that he could suffer this kind of fate. He'd tried hanging, tried leaping from the roof, tried sticking his head in the gutters and starving himself, jumping on train tracks, overdosing himself with the strongest shit he could find…didn't work, any of them! His mother had finally became fed up with him and sent him here. Here, of all places, where the crazy people dreamed their dreams of seemingly sanity-like freedom, or a chance to breathe fresh air. It was too much to ask.

He shifted his weight onto the other foot, turning his head to read the next scribbled note.

_Number 17 does not seem to be getting along with the other patients well. We've recorded several brutal or sadistic actions towards others, and therefore we have come to the conclusion that he was abused as a child. Some of the doctors have gone to investigate the mother's house, where we will be holding further questioning. Because of these cruel efforts, we have agreed that Number 17 will not get a roommate for the rest of his time here._

_Dr. Aubrey_

Raephin's brows furrowed. Abused as a child…they had thought he'd been abused when he was younger? His mother had tried everything in her power to control him, to make sure that he was all right. His father was of no concern—he'd left a long time ago, and had never come back. And what was this Dr. Aubrey babbling on about, anyways? He'd had a roommate for about a year now, at the most, so why did this note say differently? He looked to each one, noticing that all of them held some sort of information about himself. His eye caught one of the patient listings, where all of the people were named by number—going up to 46.

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There was a soft humming, a gentle tune which floated in the stiff air of the slowly trudging night. Fifty-Two's head rose slightly so that his eyes had clear vision of the quickly waning sky. He let in a breath, and wanted the morning to come desperately…he'd always wanted the morning to come. The night terrified him.

A two-headed beast clothed in bandages—each face producing their own, gentle snarl—trotted up to the short boy to flop beside his feet and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

"What do you have for me, hm?" Fifty-Two's eyes settled on the right head, and then the left with a small smile. "Don't tell me you've been slacking off, now…the time is almost ready, and we wouldn't want to be late on schedule." He watched the dog-like tail of the creature whack the rough dirt under it softly.

The animal—if one would call such a monster-looking canine—grunted loudly in reply and let out a hacking cough. A mixture of thick blood, yellow fluids, and a solid object poured from the creature's right jaw. A single finger lay in the vomit, twitching ever so lightly on the wet and stinking surface.

The humming went on and on. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."


	4. The Hunt

Fourth chapter is here! Please be so kind as to read and review; if you do, you can pick up a free raccoon on the table over there on the way out. Also, thanks to Kasumi for naming Fifty-Two's absolutely adorable dog, Ver-Gras! I want that dog…-longing sigh-

Disclaimer: Although I own the characters blundering around in the town, I do not own Silent Hill. Konami does…go give Konami a cookie.

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Forty-six patients. That couldn't _possibly_ be right…Raephin scanned the list in front of him repeatedly, quickly and then slower, until he was saying aloud every single name that was printed neatly on the record. Forty-six, forty-six…his roommate had been number fifty-two. And what was that note that stated he'd be in a lone cell for the rest of his stay? Was the doctor out of his mind? …Or was he out of his?

Raephin was drowning in a sea of overwhelming confusion.

The pounding of his hand harshly snapped him back to the horrible truth of reality. He was still in a… "deformed hospital". He was still wandering around aimlessly. And things were _still_ not making sense. To pile another misfortune atop his stack, the bandages he'd wrapped around his hand a while ago were growing bloody and coated with filth. Infection did not sound quite peachy to him at the moment.

As he turned to step over the messy and unorganized floor, he noticed the bulb outside the room had ceased its flicking. A weak, gloomy light engulfed the hall; everything was frozen, deadly still and eerily hushed. The pulsing of the walls had stopped, and he could no longer hear the distant screeches of raging and famished monsters. It felt as if, all of a sudden, his ears had given away with everything else; he felt completely and utterly deaf.

Raephin couldn't even strain to catch the sound of his own breathing. It was like another dimension, lost, empty, and an eternity of distance between the real world, and what he was caught up in right now.

He took his sweet time when exiting the room, not knowing what might await him when he fully entered the ominous hallway. However, much to his surprise, nothing shrieked and lunged out at him; nothing dropped heavily upon his head, or clawed at the skin of his heels. Nothing. There was nothing but a threatening immobility—and why this stillness was threatening, he could not explain.

The dimness began to fade gradually into the background of his sight as light caught his eye. A faint glow, but nonetheless that of the sun's. The dying rays seeped through the thin cracks of the bottom of a door—double doors, in fact. His eyes squinted to examine the source of daylight carefully. Were those the doors to the front entrance and exit of the hospital? He shook his head slowly in protest to the absurd question. They couldn't be…they hadn't been there before.

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"Sir…the days are growing with extreme pace. We must act upon our goals as soon as possible. The requirements must be filled before the time comes."

"You mustn't grow hasty, Ryland. Have you accomplished the tasks I already gave you?"

"Well, not exactly, Sir…you see—"

"There was no body," Roth interrupted rudely, leaning against the wall behind him. The church was an enormous place. Ryland stood at the front of the worship hall, overlooking the entire room. She could remember the tedious services—she'd gone to quite a few, out of sole curiosity. Behind her was a massive glass-paned window, where the Holy Mother stood in all her glory, hands outreached to their highest extent and a long, rich-colored robe of red draping down Her shoulders.

"No body?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Ryland shook her head, glancing in irritation to the figure that lounged on the first wooden row of pews. "So what do you have to say to that? Do you think Metatron has something to do with all of this?"

"Fuck Metatron," the outline snarled, turning from the girl so that his back faced her.

Ryland looked absolutely baffled. "And Sammael? What if He comes, only to find out that we've failed to do what He has asked?"

"_Fuck_ Sammael," the lazy figure teased.

Roth remained silent. Ryland's face twisted in a fuming expression. "How d-dare you say such things, and as a _leader_, no less! Roth and I have been striving to do this job, this very task for you, and you sit there on your indolent behind and tell us—"

"Shh," the leader, as Ryland had so made clear, sat up from his seat and shifted so that he was in plain view of the two, a rough finger planted gently on his deviously smirking lips. "Speak no more, my dear followers." He was clothed as the siblings were, dark and bringing out the color of his glittering, shady eyes. Hair, wild and thrown into a mass of chocolate-colored tangles, were pushed back as to not interfere with his sly expression. His face was unshaven, where a small bundle of dark hairs were already growing on his accurately pointed chin. All in all, he looked as if he hadn't bathed in three long months.

Roth nodded to his sister, a warning to remain silent as their confident boss spoke. "Apologies, Miki, Sir. My sister has a tendency to sweat over the slightest predicaments."

"Our Lord is a wise fellow, you see…" The man addressed as Miki smiled lightly, eyes flicking into a dazed state. "Lord Sammael…does what we think might be wrong. But you see, taking your time is the best way to show that you're planning things out warily. We are ruthlessly pushing to achieve what many others have failed to complete in the past. Our first step is already working its way into the town. The Beginning."

"The Beginning," Ryland repeated in a bemused murmur. "Is that why the town is becoming bathed in a thick amount of fog…? And why those creatures are roaming the streets—"

"Of course," Roth interrupted matter-of-factly. "What better way to announce the high arrival of our Sammael?"

"It is a way Sammael has chosen. Therefore it is good," Miki nodded in agreement. "The Beginning… 'In The Beginning, people had nothing. Their bodies ached, and their hearts held nothing but hatred. They fought endlessly, but death never came. They despaired, stuck in the eternal quagmire. A man offered a serpent to the sun, and prayed for salvation. A woman offered a reed to the sun, and asked for joy. Feeling pity for the sadness that had overwhelmed the earth, God was born in those two people. God made time, and divided it into day and night. God outlined the road to salvation, and gave people joy, and God took endless time away from the people. God created beings to lead people in obedience to Her. The red god, Xuchilbara; the yellow god, Lobsel Vith; many gods and angels. Finally, God sent out to create Paradise, where people would be happy just by being there. But then, God's strength ran out, and She collapsed. All the world's people grieved this unfortunate event, yet God breathed Her last. She returned to the dust, promising to come again. So God hasn't been lost. We must offer our prayers, and not forget our faith. We wait in hope for the day that the path to Paradise will be opened.' A wise woman of the Wolf family once said that," he whispered all of this out, words streaming in a river, which flowed with ease.

"You read your scriptures and know your religion well, then," Ryland crossed her arms. "And even that of other religions, too. But you're seeming to forget which God is which, Miki."

"A God is whatever you make it to be," he mumbled in reply. "Our Lord, Sammael, is the Angel of Death. A beautiful, misunderstood and fallen angel who bears the head of a beast. For Paradise to be _made_, the world must first be _remade_. Haven't you heard that before, Ryland? Don't you read up on your beliefs?" he grinned to her jokingly, though in such a manner that made her feel lower than dirt. He continued on with a certain air. "Sammael will be the key to creating Paradise. He will destroy the world of its filth, and bring forth the Paradise we've been longing and waiting for all this time."

"There is still something we need," Roth chided in. "A person in which has that key."

"A boy…" Miki whispered. "A boy who will help us to call our God, Sammael." His eyes flicked to both the brother and sister thoughtfully. "A boy you must continue to search for, whether it be in the cemetery or elsewhere."

"We'll look up on it," The girl reassured with a hurried nod. "We promise…" she rose her head, eyes narrowing in deep ponder. "Miki…you escaped from prison a while back, did you not? How were you able to study all of this, and learn such a great amount about our religion if you were confined in a tiny, vacant cell?"

Getting up from his resting position, the man knelt down to fiddle with the inside of his boot, the glimmer of a small-bladed pocketknife catching the light's glare. His lips curled upwards into a malicious grin, eyes looking positively devilish as he straightened to his feet and flicked out his tongue to run it across the tip of the sharp edge. "I have my ways, my friends…I have my ways."

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The doors hardly needed pushing; Raephin didn't even find it necessary to spend the effort in reaching forward to take a hold of the handles, because as soon as his fingers rested atop the cold metal, both sprung open as if they had been in wait of his dragging arrival. Thick clouds of fog flooded into the open doors, overwhelming him and causing him to choke out for breath.

Although it was fairly hard to observe his surroundings, he was almost sure that this was the front entry of the hospital. He made his way forward, slipping through the gated door, which was, surprisingly, already unfastened. He was looking both ways with caution, not only because he was crossing the street, but also because some of those nasty creatures in the hospital could have gotten loose, and was now running the streets.

He made his way down the sidewalk, finding each and every area of the town somewhat familiar. He could still remember where the bowling alley was, and where Jack's Inn was located. Nathan Street wasn't far, and neither was the Silent Hill Lakeside Amusement Park. The thought pleased him. He'd remembered when he'd gone as a little boy, and had taken a daring risk to go into the Haunted House with a couple of friends. In the tour, they had first entered a blank room where the speaker announced its boring yet essential messages. In the next room, it had been dark and unpredictable, with shelves stuffed with books all along the walls. It had told of a story of a family of four who had been sliced to pieces, and then of one man who died of suicide. When walking down the hallway to get to the next door, a thing had dropped from the ceiling by a noose—they later discovered it to be a "stuffed" body, which the Narrator announced to be Danny. Raephin could have sworn it looked so real, the stench and all, but then again there was a lot they could do to enhance the settings to terrify people. There was a lot in this town he was unsure of.

Raephin's distant eyes caught movement; he immediately jolted from his previous thoughts and shifted his attention to the source in front of him. There was a human standing from afar—a male, he thought to himself in certainty—yes, with dark hair and a darker attire…and an even darker gaze. Raephin had to squint his eyes to see through the hanging mist clearly—there was blood, thick and drooling down his fingers like rivers of crying red. He wanted to get closer…and yet he didn't. Should he see if the other man was okay? Or was that a foolish choice, and it would only result in him getting injured or possibly even killed? He'd just escaped that horrible life of the hospital, and to die right after when freedom was now willingly placed in his hands would be outrageous! He shifted weight awkwardly on his feet, teeth grinding into his lower lip in battling thought.

The mysterious man—yes, mysterious indeed, for he had come out of nowhere! Or that's what Raephin had predicted, given he hadn't seen him walking around before—turned his back on him and began to run with an unusually swift speed.

Raephin's legs began to move on their own, without hesitation or without decision. He dashed after the man in determination, cursing his instinct a thousand times and more.

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Come…please… 

A middle-aged man he was. Nothing more, nothing less. He'd lived in Silent Hill for quite a time, and when this month was to come to a close, it would be ten, entire years. Yes, he could remember it plainly, but not as if it were yesterday; it didn't play like a movie in his mind, but rather a very old and scratched up recorder. He never was a visible person.

Logan pulled the navy-colored vest tightly against his chest, body shuddering when came the chilly breeze of the air. He had no wish to reach up and adjust his glasses; they were fogged up, as they had been for the whole time he had been out here. The fog was something native to Silent Hill, he assured himself in confidence, but never had it grown this terribly thick—so thick that it seemed you could reach out and grab a solid chunk in your very own hand. He'd stepped out of his peaceful, little green house on the corner right next to that delightful little restaurant—he couldn't remember the name at the moment, though truthfully he hadn't ever been there himself—when he'd noticed the drastic change in the area.

What truly horrified him, though, were the few scattered and sprawled corpses he'd found randomly on his way to this place. Blood was smeared cruelly down the streets, where it ended at an abrupt cliff, or a broken-down car. Vehicles' windows were smashed in and shattered; there was no human life to be found, much less a dog or even a stray cat.

Are you alone…? 

For some reason, he had been called here. A place—an orphanage, even—by the name of Wish House. There was some sort of presence…and he was hoping desperately for it to be another being that could help him figure this all out.

D-do you feel…alone? 

"Who's there?" Logan searched the yard with his eyes, but found nothing but scattered toys and cribs. A few stuffed animals here and there, and even maybe a ball or two. The breeze had ceased its blowing, and yet a red colored ball located almost right at his feet seemed to move about three inches. "…Is somebody there?"

_I'm here…I'm here, can't you hear me? Can't you hear my voice? _

A low sound rumbled behind him, causing him to whip around and throw out his hands defensively and instinctively. There stood a creature—a creature most unlike he'd ever seen before—with mucky bandages covering its body and two revolting heads—were they heads? He wasn't sure. It advanced towards him, body low, dirty bindings dragging across the orphanage floor. "W-What…?"

Ver-Gras…wonderful you've decided to join us! 

The dog's left head thrashed out, curled back lips emitting a vicious snarl as his tooth caught on Logan's pants. The startled man let out a shocked cry and fell back, landing on his rear and lugging himself as far away from the canine-looking monster as possible. "G-Get away…Get away from me, you…"

_Be nice, Ver-Gras. Be most kind to our guest._

Another snapping of the jowls, saliva sloshing down hungry muzzles. This time the right head charged forward for its own turn; Logan's response was quick and clumsily, jerking up his arm so it smacked the dog-thing right in the face when it got too close for comfort.

Oh! He wants to play! I want to have fun… 

"What is this thing…? This place? …This presence?" Logan whined quietly, breath huffing out in deep pants; he was an older person, now! Heart attacks were easier to get, definitely, and he felt wide open and available to a heart's eternal rest right about now. The creature advanced slowly, as if testing its prey, wondering teasingly if the frightened man would get up and attempt for a hopeful escape.

_That's Ver-Gras, my friend. This is Wish House. And that presence? That's me, silly._


	5. The Catch

Fifth chapter, which is probably the farthest I've ever gotten in a fanfiction. Really sad, I know. I'm just happy I've made it this far, and since the story is getting rather interesting (or to me, at least), I really can't afford to stop at its very center. What a shame, to shoot down such a scheme! Perhaps a rotting plotline, but a plot nonetheless…and so, what am I rambling for? Probably to make my latest chapter seem more long and impressive…haha. All right, enjoy! And don't forget the reviews and raccoons!

Disclaimer: I own all of the characters (Except the spoon guy and the "legend girl" in the first chapter, if you didn't catch that…), and Konami owns all of Silent Hill. I just mold with it what I can—in which I can hardly achieve any comparative greatness.

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He felt oddly like a white rabbit chasing after a sly and wily fox—somehow he didn't _know_ why he was doing it, but otherwise it felt somewhat right to do so. It was the deadly curious situation—"I know I'm putting myself at fatal risk, here, but it's just too tempting!" Raephin's eyes shifted in and out of a hazy view as he ran past convenience stores and restaurants, billboard signs and paper advertisements, all in all not knowing what he truly wanted to do.

The man he'd seen before wasn't even in sight anymore. Had it been a man? Or, perhaps, he'd mistaken it for a human being and it was really something else? All he knew was that there was blood—or that was what it had _looked_ like—and a very creepy figure. But, even if the vague detail of the outline was a little strange to him, it still could be of help. It still could be a person, an actual human—God, he still had hope! Still had that burning wish that perhaps there was someone else…he couldn't be the only one in the town. There had to be someone…_anyone _that could give him the right information he needed…and yet, the atmosphere felt more empty and bleak than it ever had before.

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"I can't _believe_…"

"Miki…that man is a nutcase for this damn religion. It'll kill us all before it births a decent Paradise."

A splattered puddle lay beside Ryland's trembling foot, rich yet sickeningly dark—oh, the color of blood made her shiver at the very thought. She'd always been cruelly teased of such a phobia, and yet this only made her stronger mentally. She could deal with the offensive words other people shot at her, but for some reason Miki seemed to push her down to a level that seemed low and unworthy. "…I can't believe he'd do this to us."

"I can," Roth spat sourly, sitting up and letting out a light hiss through clenched teeth. "You know how he is…you know _exactly_ how he is. He'd do anything—and mind you, I literally mean that—to get to the top…to get this goal we've all been trying to grasp for years."

"What a selfish…voracious jerk," Ryland reached up to trace the dripping side of her head lightly, wincing in what seemed an almost electric pain as she did so. "Why do you think he took our ears?"

"Only took one each, thankfully," Roth snarled in hatred—he could do so when their leader wasn't around. He didn't mind expressing his true emotions around his younger sister. "Your left, and my right."

"That's odd, though, don't you think?" the confused female scrunched up her face in thought, stumbling as she got to her feet carefully. The loss of blood caused her vision to sway dangerously.

"Not for Miki," Roth examined his sister with tired eyes. "You can't exactly expect him to think up any _normal_ schemes. All in all, he hardly plans things out before he does something. Our religion acts as a trampoline to save his every fall, remember?"

Ryland let out a small chuckle, despite her pain. Roth could make a joke of even the glummest of times, which was all in all very comforting. "Come on. Let's get something to wrap this up with and stop the bleeding…"

"And then it's off to go and find Miki—ah, who would have thought babysitting could be so troublesome?"

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Oh, what a powerful feeling this was! His body shuddered in ecstasy as the hot, dark fluid coursed down his hands, tickling between fingers, dropping silently to the ground at his feet. Tucked in his pocket were his two possessions—a fleshy pair he'd stolen from the two who had disobeyed him. It was their fault, really—why hadn't they just done what he had asked? And without question, without unacceptable lies?

Well, to get something done, you have to do it yourself.

It was hard for Miki to see through the floating fog…but, then again, wasn't it that way for everyone? He didn't know how the siblings had managed to get to the cemetery in this…but nonetheless, it was still their fault for lying. Such absurdities that they'd told him were hardly good enough.

"The coffin was empty!"

Well then, search a new one!

"…Digging for hours on end…"

Don't tell me it took all the effort out of your bones!

"…And then finally, after all that, we reached an unbelievingly clean coffin."

Excuses, excuses. Ah, and even if it were true, was that any reason to report back to him? He'd given them tasks, and he had expected for them to be completed. What would Lord Sammael think of this?

_I'll_ be the one to get rewarded in the end, Miki thought fiercely. Me, me, me. And in the brought Paradise, I will lift up my chin, sit before my Lord, and scorn at all those who've defied me! Mocked me! Laughed…oh, it will be such a joy. But first…

His eyes shifted back to the road in front of him. His eyes caught movement—was that movement? Low to the ground, dark…yes, there had been stirring in the distance. He gradually began to walk towards it, carefully, cautiously. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally, thinking he heard footfalls from behind, but when he looked back to catch someone following there was nothing there. And so, always, he shifted his eyes forward to the shady outline ahead.

There was a loud slamming sound, soon after causing him to stagger back and reach up to rub his stomach defensively, where it had roughly collided with what felt like wood. He squinted his eyes to thin slits, finally making out what he had run into. A sign.

Wish House, supported by Silent Hill Smile Society.

A brow rose questionably as he crept closer, throwing out his hand to make sure he didn't run into any other solid objects. The surface of his palm bumped softly on rusted—was it metal? He couldn't exactly see in this misty air—where he trailed his fingers down to trace the shape of two door handles. Had the moving shape entered these doors?

It was only possible. The low silhouette was nowhere to be seen.

With more excitement than half the wariness he had filling up in him before, he gave both doors a great shove.

_Well, hello there…it's so nice of you to join us._

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It was hard to believe that a bead of sweat began to trickle down the side of Raephin's face. Or was it merely the moisture of the fog clinging to his skin? No…he would have sworn his other nine fingers that it was sweat—hot, sticky, unbearable sweat.

That crafty fox with the bloodied hands was gone now—but where had he disappeared to? His eyes darted from right to left, back and forth, up and down, but alas there was still nothing to be found. Had it been a hallucination?

He seemed to be getting a lot of those lately.

And truthfully, he was sick and tired of it. Why did his mind have to play these tricks on him? Glazed his eyes so that they spotted illusions at every corner, every street? He shook his head slowly, eyelids shutting tightly, trying to get the images to fade. The town was here, _really_ here…there were people all around him, shopping and chattering happily, carelessly, and soon the police would spot him and come to take him back to that overly populated hospital…

Opened his eyes. Nothing…

…But the creaking of a door.

He whipped towards the direction immediately, driving his legs as fast as they would take him. The source was close; it had to be! He'd just heard it, dammit; he'd heard it with his own, normal, perfectly fine ears! There was something, because there had to be something, because if there wasn't he…

An open door. Up ahead? Yes…not too far from where he was running now. He skidded to a stop a distance away, staring thoughtfully, debating. Should he go into the doors? This might be his only chance to find another living thing…another human. But then again, what if it wasn't really a human, and this was all just a nasty trap? Like a mouse pondering over the cheese, he did what most mice do. He slowly walked into the doors with a hungry need, and a powerful determination to find out if this was the place where everyone in the town had went.

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The surprise on their faces was almost breathtakingly pleasant. He could have simply giggled at the absolutely baffled expression which popped into view the second they entered the dark, secluded orphanage.

There was a dark haired man he'd never seen before—black robe, massed hair, filthy little beard…quite the intimidating one, it seemed. His eyes settled onto the other—the one who had entered at a later time. Fifty-Two's eyes blinked curiously as his attention perked excitedly…he remembered _this_ one! "…N-Number Seventeen?"

He watched as Raephin's head jerked to the right, mouth dropping ajar in surprise. "Fifty-Two…is that you? What are you…?"

A groan exploded from the lips of the man lying in his lap. Fifty-Two's fingers soothingly stroked the man's short hair and watched as the glasses slid off the bridge of the male's nose. Logan's eyelids fluttered repeatedly, eyes wanting to roll into the back of his head, but body refusing to let them do so. The stump of his right leg attempted to lift, but only slapped back to the ground harshly, gushes of blood flooding from the torn flesh. The meat surrounding the bone of the leg was jaggedly ripped, looking as though something sharp—like knives, or perhaps something smaller—had dug and cut without skill along the smooth and once unharmed skin. "We were playing." The young one explained simply.

Raephin, mouth gaping and eyes almost bulging from their sockets, stood frozen in place. "Fifty-Two…what are you talking about? There's…a dying man spread across your knees. What the _hell_ do you _mean_ you were playing?"

"Don't y-yell at me, Seventeen," the black-haired boy warned, smiling teasingly all the same.

Miki's focus was directed elsewhere. Nailed to the walls of the orphanage, and covering the childish drawings of flowers and cats, were draping bodies of several sorts. He noticed that all were human, and all had some sort of…piece missing from them. The first he came across while examining the place was missing a nose—the next one lost a right eye, and the one beside that lost the left. He'd even noted that some of the bodies were only missing one different and particular finger. He reached down to dig in his pocket and pull out the pair of ears he'd taken from the siblings—felt around, dug deeper, frowned. They were gone.

"Don't yell at you?" Raephin stepped closer, shaking his head a bit as he did so. "Fifty-Two, do you have any clue what you're doing?" He didn't know why he kept calling the younger boy by that hospital name—which, technically, didn't even exist. "Rather, do you know what's even happening around here?"

"I've g-got a pretty good c-clue, Seventeen…" Fifty-Two looked innocently down to the moaning human in his lap. "Yep…good clue, good clue…"

The taller and darker man came up from behind Raephin, causing him to jump. Miki eyed the jittery boy with a cocked brow and shook his head slowly, thrusting his head up to observe the sky. "You really _do_ have no clue, do you, kid?"

"Why would I be asking all of this if I did?" Raephin growled in irritation, crossing his arms in both exhaustion and annoyance. "It seems like everyone knows something that I don't…" He straightened to make himself look taller, perhaps a bit more daunting. "I demand to know what's going on. Why are you doing this, Fifty-Two? And why is the town so…different?"

"I-I'll tell you everything…" Fifty-Two shifted, eyeing first the robed man, then his hospital companion, and lastly the twitching individual laying atop his legs. "Everything that I know."


	6. Flames of Another

And here we are…once more…here. I want to truly thank every reviewer for his or her wonderful comments and criticism! It's been a real help, I assure you, and I'm awfully grateful that I can at least attract some form of audience. YAY! –throws confetti- Anyways, six is a very good number. A very good number, indeed. Fifty-Two fans might be fond of this chapter, given a lot of it is revolved around him for the most part. So if you don't like the stuttering little maniac…well, then…uh, apologies.

Disclaimer: Once more, the characters are mine, 'cept Spoon Man and Legend Woman! Wow that sounds like some sort of cheesy hero comic…anyways, Silent Hill belongs to Konami. Enjoy!

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_**Speak. **_

"_Tonek, would you be so kind as to go up now and perform the presentation?"_

_His hands shook robustly, nervously, as small and scratched fingers clutched the spine of the worn, raggedy red book in his grasp. Horrified eyes flitted this way and that, catching all of the eyes, all of the stares, all of the waiting faces… "Yes, Ma'am." There was no more time to waste._

_The front of the auditorium was absolutely astonishing; there was an impressive wooden podium where everything was read out loud—that was where he needed to go. On the back wall, there had been a large hanging crucifix, but that had been taken down not long ago for technical reasons he hadn't heard about. Maybe it had broken? Or perhaps someone had thrown something and it…? No time to wander off into such futile thoughts; everyone was waiting. Waiting for him._

"_Mr. Tonek is going to read to us the scriptures of the Crimson Ceremony. Now, children, this is a very important piece so I want you all to be listening. Remember, God is watching, and so She knows whenever you're fooling around with others, or disobeying the rules." The Sister who had called out terrified the shaking boy; with her thinning gray hair and her strict, pushed-up face, she could look down over her hooked nose at the children and make it seem as though she was a vulture, perched on her royal throne and waiting for the mice to kill over in fear. _

_**Speak.**_

_His footsteps seemed to echo down the narrow pathway between neatly lined pews on both sides. It was very unlikely, though, since the floor was of carpet and not of tiles or wood. Nonetheless, he could hear his breathing, his racing heart, and it made him utmost uncomfortable as he climbed the few stumpy stares to the higher level. Being a whole six years of age, he couldn't exactly reach the top of the podium—even on his tiptoes—so he had to take the time to drag a small step over so that he could get up on it and settle the book in front of him quietly. _

_**Speak. **_

_He cleared his throat with a cough. Another cough. Gaze searched the room anxiously as he did so, noticing the Sister's raising brow, the awkward shifting of fellow orphans, and the sighs of those who were already bored. He slowly opened the cover of the book, fingering the paper bookmark, which had kept his rightful place. _

"_S-Speak."_

_He looked up. All eyes were on him._

"…_I a-am the…the Crimson One…"_

_He could hear the shuffling of paper. Someone in the back was throwing a balled up note across the room; he glanced up to see that it had hit someone in the head._

"…_The l-lies and the mist a-are not they but I…You all k-know that I am One. Y-Y-Yes, and the One is I. B-Believers hearken t-to me…! Twenty s-score men and seven thousand b-b-bea—"_

"_Mr. Tonek, I believe that is enough." The tone in her voice was sharp, cracking him like a whip._

"…_B-beasts. Heed my w-words and speaketh t-them to all…"_

"_That is quite ENOUGH, Mr. Tonek."_

"…_That they shall e-ever be obeyed…"_

"_Enough!"_

"…_Even under the l-light of the p-proud…"_

"_ENOUGH!"_

"…_And m-merciless sun…" He was startled to see the Sister storming towards him, jerking him off the stool and causing a loud slamming to erupt. His hands had caught onto the sharp edge of the podium, and yet he clung, cheek pressed against the cool wood tightly. "…I can read the rest."_

"_That is enough for today. Now stop making this difficult and get to your feet! We shall continue with someone else's readings tomorrow night."_

"_B-But I can read it…I c-can read the rest!" he cried desperately; why couldn't he just finish what he had started? Why wouldn't she let him accomplish the task of getting to read out loud in front of the whole orphanage? He had been doing well…hadn't he? He'd had done better than expected—_

"_Let GO of the podium, Tonek!" Her snarls did not force him to budge. "Let go right this instant!" She started to pull, and his legs were starting to ache from her distressed heaving, and all he wanted to do was read, read and finish it, but it seemed as though she were going to rip his legs off, and…_

"_I want to read the rest! P-Please, let m-me!" Tears were beginning to stream from his eyes now…now, of all times! It was all so embarrassing, and yet, he didn't care. He didn't care that he looked like a helpless and sobbing child who cried out for attention. Didn't care that his leg had snapped out of place, or that a jolt of sudden pain had rushed up his leg. Didn't care that he was now being dragged off the stairs, down the middle of the pews and out the auditorium doors…_

_The huffing Sister and the weeping child were outside now, one still dragging the other without any sign of affection or pity. "Now, Tonek," she began firmly. "You've been a very, very bad boy this evening! If you think we are going to settle for such absurd behavior, then you will have to be punished. Not only by us, but also by God Herself. You better think seriously on what you've done."_

_The round, concrete-like shelter came into view. Was it a shelter? Some would consider it such a civilized word…others, who'd clearly been inside, would consider it a prison. Located in the middle of the orphanage, it was famous for its horrible stories told by orphans who'd been sent inside and came out to live another day. The children were sent inside this punishment lair for various reasons; a stumble upon a scripture, atrocious actions towards another, stealing from Sisters or other children, and so on and so forth. He couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. He'd read it well…he'd read it better than he'd ever read anything in his entire life. _

_Even if this was so, the Sister seemed not to care. His scrawny form was shoved through the small opening at the bottom, where a large stone fit into place once he was fully inside. There was absolutely no light—not even peeking through the top…no cracks, no holes. The ground below him was dry and unwelcoming. "P-Please, Sister!" he threw himself at the stone wall, clawing down it with his uneven nails and wails becoming louder. "I-I'll read it! I'll read it b-better…please, just d-don't leave me here…don't leave m-me here…alone…"_

_Nothing. There was nothing but the horrendous silence that greeted him. Tonek curled his small body into a tight ball, rocking back and forth, back hitting the hard wall every so often. There was no one here. Did they even feed the children that lingered in this place of atonement? He'd never actually seen any of the Sisters walk over and slip food in. Would he have to live off the roaches and occasional rats? _

_He let out yet another bawling whimper. He didn't like roaches and rats. They frightened him. _

"_H-Here…" he whispered under his breath, falling over on his side and staring out into the cold and unresponsive darkness. "H-Here…I'm gonna h-have to stay…'till they c-come and get me. Won't b-be so bad, no…no, no, no…no, no, no, no, no…"_

_A light flicker. A frown washed his once-scared face. Had he just seen…? _

_There it was. He couldn't believe it. In front of him, lingering on thin air and dancing wildly to the windless air, was a small and undying flame. _

"_I-Is anybody there…?"_

_The flame continued to glimmer brightly, but did not move an inch. _

_He opened his mouth to speak. "…'S a-anyone there…? You…with the f-fire…?"_

_No answer. Nothing. The flame even seemed to blend into the stillness, because there was neither crackling nor the snapping of sparks. He hoisted himself up on his knees, leaning forward and beginning to crawl towards the mysterious ember, which he guessed was across the "prison". _

_When he finally reached it, he noticed something quite peculiar—there was no heat emitting from the source. He raised his hand so that it remained above the flame, but no matter how long he kept it there, it didn't seem to get any hotter. His lips curled downwards into a light frown of confusion. Fire was never as bluntly warm as this. What was going on?_

_Gradually, cautiously, he rested the tip of his finger at the top of the fire. Nothing happened—and so, because of his overwhelming curiosity, he stuck his whole finger in, and then another, and then another, until his whole hand was resting in the very core of the blazing flame. It was strange; really…it felt rather chilly in the very center, like ice, but warmer on the edges. Fire had never felt like that before. Of course, he had never actually stuck his whole hand in the flames before, but they had always warned him with scorching heat before he'd even get close to doing so._

_Bored with the flame, now, he flopped heavily onto his back and let out an exhausted sigh. The day's events had been both tedious and upsetting. His lids were growing heavy from the lack of rest he'd received from nights before—nightmares were always so stressful. Staring up into the dimness, he let his breath hiss out through clenched teeth. Perhaps spending a few days in this prison wouldn't be so bad…maybe he'd be able to get some nice, needed rest—_

_Smoke? He sniffed the air a second time. Yes, that was definitely smoke._

_He turned his head to search for the cold flame he'd seen before, eyes widening so that it seemed they were about to pop. His lips parted, and from his throat burst a scream of terror as the boiling fire began to greedily devour at the flesh of his arm, which was slowly fading into a color that reminded him of coal…_

_Sirens…in the distance? No. They were closer. Close to him. Right by him. Atop him._

_And voices, too. His head was pounding furiously, but he could have sworn they were a pair of Sisters' voices…the one from that night of his reading, and another…_

"_What happened to him? The burn looks horrible."_

"_I put him in there merely for a sort of time out, if you will. His reading was too embarrassing to be represented to God at such a time, with all of his struggling of words. I have no clue how this all happened; there are no matches in the Atonement Center. Not even a couple of sticks."_

_No…there hadn't been sticks. No matches. No lighters. That little flame had already vanished once he'd noticed his arm, but…he'd also noticed something else. The picture was faint, almost dying off in his mind, but he could remember a few traits almost as if they'd just appeared moments ago. He remembered horns. Long, brown horns that curled from a dark head. Wide, shadowy yet somehow comforting wings…and breasts. He tried to blink, but found that his eyes were still closed. _

"_Hey…hey! Get someone over here, quick! Hurry, quick, his heart's seemed to have stopped!" one of the Sisters shrilled in worry._

…_Huh…?_

"_Feel his wrists…neck? Do you feel a pulse at all? We'll be at the hospital soon, let's just hope he can hold on—"_

"_Oh, dear God."_

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"This fog is absolutely terrible…" Ryland let out a frustrated sigh as she swiped her hands out in front of her, trying to make clear vision for her eyes—of course, this failed to work. "Why couldn't Lord Sammael choose rain? Or snow?"

"Suppose the other Gods already took those climates," Roth chuckled lightly. "And although our sign is the Halo of the Sun, we're not getting much sunlight 'round here anytime soon."

Both made their way down the street rather noisily, feet clunking against the sidewalk ground carelessly. Apparently they had given up the attempt of being silent, because now they were just fed up with this whole search. Oh, yes, they'd encountered a few revolting creatures during their hunt, but almost always they'd be able to find something of assistance nearby—a trashcan lid, a wooden plank, a broken butcher knife…

They were sick of it! Sick, sick, sick of running around and trying to find their childish leader—Miki, who just _had _to go off on his own and complete his own "work". And he'd lecture them, too. He'd stand there and say, "What would Lord Sammael think?" or "You two are seriously slacking! This is the Beginning, and although we've got to be cool about this, haste is something that'll put a dent in our attempt for Paradise."

Ryland was infuriated. Roth was just annoyed.

"Where could he _be_?" she hissed angrily, throwing her balled up fists in the air. "We've searched the whole town!"

"I wouldn't say the whole town…" Roth started, but was quickly interrupted by his younger sister.

"All the way down Nathan Street, Munson Street, Katz Street, even inside Heaven's Night!" she shivered at the thought of going in there again. Even though there was hardly any activity when they had entered the bar, it was still somewhat disturbing to walk in and find papers strewn all over the place of naked and dancing women. She'd rather stick to peeking inside the Texxon Gas Station.

"All the way here, all the way there. It seems like we've been walking a long way, but believe me, it's only been about half an hour at the most."

"Fine," the irritated female snapped, crossing her arms stubbornly. "The Wish House orphanage is up ahead…let's just go check that out on the way."

"Why would he be there?" Roth eyed her curiously with raised eyebrows.

"Why would he be anywhere but the church?"

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"I had seen Sammael."

Miki's shadowed eyes flicked towards the young boy who had just finished his story. "So you are the one after all…"

"Wait, wait…" Raephin blinked, looking from one to the other and ignoring the whining Logan who was still moaning under his breath loudly. "So you used to live here…right?"

"That is correct," Fifty-Two nodded in agreement.

"…And your real name is Tonek?"

Once more, another nod.

"Then why do you use that hospital name? And how the hell did you even get to the hospital? And why—?"

"You see, Seventeen…" Fifty-Two—or, Tonek—had gone back to petting Logan's head, as if the man was a pretty kitty who starved for endless attention. Quite the opposite, the man tried to writhe away, but was held tightly to the boy's lap. "…After my arm was taken by the God of the town, I suppose I was put on an ambulance vehicle. I'd never made it. I'd died on the ride there."

"Then why—"

"I'd decided to see where they were going to take me. It was so…weird, really. I hadn't even noticed I was dead and gone until I'd overheard the Sisters and their saddened comments. I kind of think they were faking it, though…" Tonek let a forced smile light his distraught face. "I had the same body, only my arm was gone. It took a while to get used to. I'd arrived at Brookhaven several years later, when I'd snatched up the courage to go, and had come to find out that once they'd treated me back to normal health, they had intended me to stay there. Said I was kind of out of my mind, having a fit that night and then later exclaiming I'd seen the beast-headed Lord himself. The doctors even laughed."

There was silence. Raephin nodded to encourage the younger one to continue.

"There were fifty-one residents of the hospital at the time, so I'd adopted the next number for myself. Unfortunately, six of those patients were sent out quickly, either to another hospital or freed to run the streets. Anyways…when I'd got there, I noticed that no one could see me. No one but a select few…and one of the chosen ones was you, Seventeen." He smiled broadly, a child-like beam that made Raephin feel a bit protective of his used-to-be roommate. "So there had to be a pattern. Some kind of odd guideline that needed to be followed…"

"The ritual…" Miki whispered, nodding in understanding.

"Does this have to do with that Beginning you're talking about?" Raephin's puzzlement was slowly dissolving.

"Sammael had chosen me—me, of all people," Tonek looked truly proud. "To first begin the ritual. Only those who could see me would carry on the rest. I needed a single piece of every person who could see me," He got up, letting Logan's resting head bang to the grassy ground roughly. Turning, he made his way towards an old, wooden rocking chair, which lightly swayed in the calm night's air.

There, sitting inside, was what seemed to be a body—only, for some unusual reason it didn't feel like a _whole_ body. Every piece was there—Raephin's finger, Miki's stolen ears, Tonek's arm, Logan's leg…but it was not alive. There was something missing.

"I can see you," Miki exclaimed, brows furrowing. "Why hasn't Lord Sammael taken a piece of flesh from me?"

"Oh…" Tonek turned towards the rough-looking man, shrugging ever-so-slightly as he let out a nonchalant sigh. "He's got other plans for you."


	7. The Kill

Hello! Chapter 7 is here, and with this chapter I've got the canny feeling that we're coming to a close. Not _quite _yet, of course, but we're getting there. Thanks to all of the reviewers; you really help with this fanfiction every time you submit a bit of your words.

Disclaimer: All characters are mine except a select few. If you don't know who those 'select few' are, then why are you starting at chapter 7 to read this? Go back, go back! xD The town of Silent Hill is Konami's. And so is Sammael. –wail-

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"So, do tell," a haughty grin swept Miki's face. "What has Lord Sammael got for me, then? Apparently I'm not a part of this sacrifice, so it must be something much, much more."

Tonek's eyes rolled upwards in what seemed to be thought—or maybe it was annoyance. Really, it was hard to tell. "Oh, yes…it's a s-special job, you see, but…it doesn't come immediately, like theirs. You'll have to be patient with time."

With a scowl, the black-robed leader shot a brief glance towards the rocking chair. "Don't see why you just can't tell me…" he grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly to emphasis this manner of tenacity. "At least tell me this—does it have anything to do with Paradise?" a flash of eagerness sparked in his now-focused eyes.

Raephin coughed, looking from one to the other; Fifty-Two was hiding something, obviously, just to tease the other. The filthy man standing opposite was just a little too…obsessive, or so Raephin was confident to believe. Such a Paradise was what other people believed to be Heaven, and the only Heaven _he_ believed in was the white powder he'd gotten his hands on before he'd been thrown in the crazy house. Other than that, hope was just a petty source of comfort, and nothing more.

Tonek glimpsed down, not wanting to catch Miki's eyes. He was surprised to find that the man with the glasses was still alive, chest rising and falling with much effort, but doing so nonetheless. "You could call it Paradise…" he murmured, shoulders falling in a shrug. "…But then again, don't y-you think anyone can call anything Paradise if they want it to be?"

A bit taken aback, Miki tried to hide his uneasiness as he shook his head roughly. "Yeah, yeah, they could…but I think you _know_ what I'm talking about. It's a true Paradise; the one."

"One above all o-others, eh?" Tonek smiled. "Tell me, S-Sir…what do your followers think?"

"I don't know _what_ they think anymore," Miki snarled under his breath, the very thought infuriating him. The two siblings, the higher of his followers, had seemed to willingly give in once they had found that there was nothing left in the coffin they had dug up. If they were ready to give up on what little tasks he had easily found soon after, then were they really unwavering when it came to forfeiting everything just to get back a one, single thing? "…I just don't know."

"Well then," Tonek turned his head towards the entrance of the orphanage, tilting his head to the side at a bit of an angle. "We'll be blessed enough to soon find out."

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The doors creaked open, eerily giving off the shrill sound that the two siblings were not too fond of hearing. It was a very unnerving noise—a noise that sent shivers up the middle of their backs, like snakes slithering up their trembling spines. The opening swung open to announce the two's arrival.

Ryland immediately rushed forward towards the small group in the center of the area; Roth's feet were cautious, steady as he made his way along the walls of the place, ears ringing as he heard the slamming of the doors behind them. His back was slightly crouched; he looked like a peering cat, ready to dart away if any sudden or unexpected jerk sprung out in surprise.

"Miki—er, Sir!" The girl was hardly used to calling the older man such a title. "We've been looking all _over_ for you! Why did you just go off on your own? And why, in all sake of the living, did you take our—" Her eyes caught the rocking chair beside them. Walking over, face twisted as if in a daze, she reached out to run her hand across a seemingly invisible barrier, preventing her hand from straying any closer—or perhaps she thought the sight to be too astounding to touch, at the moment. "There are our—"

"—Ears!" Roth finished in astonishment, gaze sweeping over the mass of different body parts. He then looked over to the strangers he'd never laid eyes on before—an odd looking fellow with forks dangling from his belt, and another with a stub for an arm… "Hey…you're—"

"It never gets old," Tonek sighed in satisfaction, basking in the thought of being what many like to call 'special'.

Raephin took all of this in silently, as if not wanting to interrupt some joyful family reunion. If so, it was more than likely he'd probably be cursed if he did—he was starting to believe that anything was possible around here, including the act of getting turned into a filthy and wart-covered toad. Gradual movement caught his eye; he turned his head to watch the female newcomer advance towards the so-called sacrifice.

Ryland had noticed them from the start—two chunks of lightly colored skin, sprinkled daintily with a light covering of freckles, and the torn edges clearly cut savagely from the edge of a blade. Their ears—these were _theirs_! Barrier now obviously forgotten, her hand shot out, ready to retrieve what was rightfully—

"Ry!" She heard her brother's voice, angry and filled with worry as she was thrown backwards, tumbling on the hard ground roughly and landing square on her back. She looked up to see their leader towering over her, eyes wide and wild, hair looking as massed as ever, and lip curled back to bare his teeth in a malicious warning. "Don't you _dare_."

Her lower lip began to tremble in fear; Roth stepped up beside his sister's flinching form, eyes furious and glaring straight into the other male's. "Don't touch her. Don't even think about it, Miki."

"Then get your bitch of a sister away from the sacrifice!" he bellowed just as heatedly, stepping forward—he was not afraid, in the least, to show how daunting he was. Although not overly equipped with a large amount of muscle, he had an air about him that made others nearby scoot away in wariness. Ryland felt so livid, and yet at the same time an overwhelming amount of shame was weighing atop her head. She'd admired Miki in the past, and still did somewhat, when looking over his stubborn and impatient acts of leadership. However, seeing him talk about her like this made her spirit drop, and all around her was a puddle of the dreadful, sinking sand waiting to be fed.

Although Ryland was worrying over hesitation and thoughts of confusion, her brother took no time to wait for the 'right moment'. He had already lunged towards the filthy man opposite of him, and the two went crashing to the ground, tumbling over each other in a bundle of violent throwing limbs and teeth. "That's all you care about," Roth growled brutally, getting pinned under and arms resisting against Miki's head from shooting down—no doubt the dark-haired man would probably try to chew his jugular out, "That damn Paradise of yours!"

"Oh," Miki hissed, little bits of spit glinting on the redhead's face, "So it's _my_ Paradise now?"

"Maybe it is!" Roth mumbled sharply in reply, a bit taken aback. He couldn't tell what he was saying anymore…all he knew was that the man who'd led them all these years had both physically and verbally attacked his sister, and for this he was unable to control his normal system of thinking. "Wait…"

But the one on top hadn't heard the last word, which had escaped from his high follower's mouth. His fingers were already gripping the side of Roth's head, entwining in the flaring hair. "Well, if you're not too fond of finding Paradise…" Miki mumbled with a small, hurried giggle to follow. "I'll send you to Hell!"

"Miki, _no_!" Ryland screamed, struggling to get up from where she had fallen.

The back of Roth's head collided with the hard dirt below, unlucky enough to notice there was no grass around the selected brawl area. His skull rattled jerkily, the light damage to his brain causing his vision to swing and blur. It felt as if he was flying as his head was lifted, but tipped out of a highborn airplane to shake his senses once more. He could hear the rocking chair swinging moving back and forth faster, faster, faster…it sounded as if it were going to fly from its very spot.

"Stop it, you jerk! _Stop it! Get a hold of yourself!_" The frightened girl screeched as she yanked at his arm hopelessly, nails tearing into the cloth of his robe. "Miki, you're killing him! _YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"_ her shrieks only seemed to increase in volume as she attempted to wrench him away.

Raephin started forward, deciding to help the desperate sister. "And they sent _me_ to the crazy house?" He sneered under his breath as he eyed the raging Miki. He almost didn't want to get near the guy, but thought better to go over and be of aid, rather than just stand there looking like a fool. Tonek had a pleasant smile dancing across his lips, enjoying this aggressive scuffle a little too much.

Ryland's face lit up at once as she noticed Raephin's intentions. He took Miki's shoulder as she grasped the other, and together they pulled back with gasping groans and grunts of effort. The man was like trying to force a predator from its kill—though hopefully, Ryland thought in addition, her brother hadn't been mutilated and ripped apart—but finally he fell back with a rasping burst of laughter.

Roth's body was motionless; Ryland's sobbing figure draped over his silent form in loud attempt to wake him up. Raephin stood there, awkward, watching one sibling cry uncontrollably over the other. Miki lay on his back, a fanatical grin alight from ear to ear, chest rising and falling rapidly with every random chuckle ready to explode.

Tonek stood there, at a far distance, looking down at them like a majestic king perched on his throne and looking down to the common folk—though hardly _anybody_ would go as far to call a single one of them _common_. "My friends," he called out, raising his arm above his head, an expression of utmost pride spreading. "Our Lord is here."


	8. Epilogue X Paradise

Hello, hello. Early update, because I was feeling very alive at 2:00AM in the morning, hehe. This is, I am afraid, the last chapter for Infatuate Infection. –Wails- My first completed fanfic, wow. Yeah. Anyways…I love you reviewers to death. Thank you so much for dropping in your comments, 'cause you know it counts!

A reply to Wolf Ravensoul – Miki may, or may not be, a false disciple. I suppose it's all in how you portray him. To me, he is not; I'm sure the Cult hasn't always been wise in their choices of leadership and so on. Here is a very nice example of that.

The chapter is an "epilogue" due to the events, which occur later on. In the beginning of the chapter, it continues on from where it left off; however, I found it fit to put in the special aftermath word because these are the ultimate results. I could not separate the beginning of this chapter from the end, because both would have been unacceptably short. So, I do hope you enjoy the last of Infatuate Infection!

Disclaimer: Characters except a select few are mine, and the town of Silent Hill is definitely Konami's…yes, yes, and I have yet to steal it from their grasp. xD

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"Our Lord is here."

The words rung through the night's still air; Raephin's limbs had stiffened, and his ears had apparently gone deaf. He could no longer hear the mournful cries of Ryland. He couldn't hear the maniacal giggles coming from the siblings' leader, nor the rocking of the chair, which held the so-called 'sacrifice.' "And with your Lord…" he murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing as they searched the area. Nothing seemed to be approaching. "…Comes what?"

Miki had rolled over onto his stomach, eyes growing as wide as dinner plates as he jerked his head this way and that, as if trying to find the source of their conversation. His lips uttered unheard mumbles; his fingers twiddled with the opening of his robe. Glances indicated that everyone had noticed his paling of skin, even more so than it had been before. The sickening gray tinge on the surface only seemed to grow a shade thicker in worry and impatient expectance.

Tonek had fallen to his knees beside the rocking chair. Ryland was bowing her head, still clutching the arm of her dear unmoving brother. Raephin stood frozen to the spot.

A sudden, blinding flare engulfed the entire orphanage—perhaps even the town beyond the stable, surrounding walls. The fog was no longer there; had dissipated into thin air, leaving the bright light to shine in its departure. Although Raephin would have been glad to wave the heavy mist a cheerful good-bye, it seemed this unbearable beam was no better. He'd closed his eyes tightly against the painful gleam, and therefore was unknowing to all around him. Ryland was no different; her eyes, as well, were shut tightly as to prevent her eyesight from becoming overwhelmed.

However, the one farthest from the three had plans that were not so similar. The black-attired male had leapt to his feet, dark eyes once holding a clever and mysterious air about them seeming to burn from their very sockets; they kept in their rightful place, but burned incessantly with a vicious fire that refused to decrease to sparks. He could hardly see as he stumbled across the uneven ground, determined to grasp the very core of where the light was truly coming from. Where _was_ it coming from? There was no definite source to be found.

He didn't care about the others anymore. Didn't care about his high followers, those two traitors, who'd snapped and attacked him ever since The Beginning had started. He didn't need that Fifty-Two boy anymore…the ritual had been completed, and he no longer desired any sort of evidence to confirm to him that this was the actual time. The fork boy was just useless. Why had he been there in the first place?

Raephin was trying hard not to trip over the various toys scattered all across the yard in front of him. He knew the distant footsteps belonged to Miki, because the vague outline he could picture behind his eyelids was not shaped like a girl. "Hey!" he called out, trying to get the other's attention. Something was happening…something very dangerous. This, he decided, was a 'Lord' that did not like to be pestered with. Why was everyone so keen on trying to bring this savior of theirs to life so they could fawn at its feet?

Miki dropped to his knees, shaking hands clasped together tightly in prayer. His head bowed fervently as he opened his mouth to speak.

Raephin's voice broke the rushing air once more. "_Hey_, come on!"

"Now I lay me down to sleep…" the dark hair covered his eager, glimmering eyes.

"Listen to me, dumbass! You're gonna make this…this thing even angrier than it already is!" Raephin didn't know what he was saying, exactly, but for some odd reason he had a feeling what he was saying was right.

"…I pray the Lord my soul to keep…" He gripped his hands tighter together, teeth clenching in resistance to nervous chatter.

The light seemed to grow brighter with every word that flowed from Miki's lips. Raephin shivered, backing away slowly, and rose his hand to try to give his eyes a bit of shade.

"…If I die, before I wake…" Miki took another heavy breath in, holding it, chest growing anxious and heart racing.

Raephin shook his head slowly. "No," he murmured, falling back and becoming lightly dizzy.

"…I pray the Lord my soul to take."

And then, so very abruptly, darkness came.

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Ache…terrible ache…and an eruption of soreness everywhere…

Raephin let out a low groan as he turned on his side, eyes fluttering open as feeling came to his bones once more. The ground under him was soft…and he could see again. His vision was as clear as ever, no light to threaten him of going blind, no fog that made him squint his eyes in effort. He rolled over once more, bumping into a soft padded wall—he let out another groan as he noticed where he was. Hoisting himself up to sit upright, he raised a hand to brush a few damp strands out of his face. Sweaty and exhausted, he blinked away the haziness from his eyes. "A dream…?" he murmured under his breath, trying to shake away the tiredness in his head. "…Was all of it…a dream?"

His door swung open to reveal a tough looking, burly male who wore the usual suit of a guard. "Breakfast," he grunted, turning and stalking off; he didn't take the effort in closing the cell door back, knowing the other would soon follow anyways.

Raephin stalked out after the taller man, making his way slowly into the stuffy kitchen where talk met his ears at once; not only the civilized exchange of words, but also the howls and shouts of some—he was used to all of this, of course, and chose to ignore it this morning as he took a seat on the far side of an empty table.

"Odd…" he mumbled, brows furrowing as he noticed the lightly crackling radio perched at the front of the dining room. They had never let them listen to radios before, and he sometimes had had to hold back to listen to one in the guard's room. He wondered what the occasion could be, and focused his attention solely on the fading words, trying to catch what was steaming from the machine's overused speakers.

"…With us today is a witness from the current events that have been updating by the second; a most horrific scene we were unable to capture on film when we entered Wish House, an orphanage located on the outskirts of the town of Silent Hill, has been discovered today by a local named Robert Jones, age fifteen, exclaiming he had gone in to investigate because of a dare his friends had given him."

Another voice.

"Yeah, that's right! That's when I saw all that stuff, y'know? Lots of freaky looking bodies nailed to the ground, an empty rocking chair, and even four people on the ground! Two of 'em wouldn't talk to me, some guy with bandages started to freak and passed out, and then the oldest one was—"

"—And I believe we have the eldest victim here with us today, a resident of Silent Hill for almost ten entire years. Sir, what do you have to say about this?"

"Well," the man started, and Raephin's eyes widened—was that Logan they'd found? "Being here in Silent Hill for ten years, I have found some pretty creepy things here myself. But the incident that happened to me the night before—it was nothing like I'd ever seen. Crazy people, all around me…this kid, pettin' at my damned hair…"

"Petting at your hair?" There was amusement in the reporter's voice. "So, tell us, Sir, about this child you're speaking of? We're really curious. We did not find any children other than Robert Jones around the area."

"Boy was a lunatic or something," the man replied confidently. "Took my leg, as you can so clearly see, and was aided by this two-headed dog lookin' thing…said he was dead or something, he did…"

"…O…k…" The reporter's voice was hesitant momentarily, but soon picked up her perky tone to continue. "Well, Sir, we'll have to of course take you in for questioning during this important time of investigation; our researchers are still trying to find out why our cameras and their cameras both broke when we entered the area in which the scene took place."

Breakfast had been the usual, though it seemed the food Raephin had swallowed held more taste than before—probably because he was being occupied with something interesting while he was eating it. He was hurried back to his cell in ponder, where he settled himself in the corner and began thinking over the events which had happened to him so far.

So it hadn't been a dream. It couldn't have been, had it? It had been on the radio. Unless, of course, he was still dreaming…or maybe the very radio was a hallucination of his? Illusions were something he didn't doubt that he got, but he'd much prefer that it had happened rather than think he'd made all of it up. That would only encourage the meek thought in the back of his head that perhaps this crazy house was the right type of home for him.

It hadn't even been two hours before the cell door opened once more; Raephin yawned, but did not raise his head. He was still thinking, still too lost in thought to care what the guard had to say. "What?"

"…As I recall, your name is Raephin?"

He blinked for a few moments. No one in the hospital called him Raephin. He jerked up his head, not too sure what he might find.

"Hi, there." In front of him stood the two from before. The sobbing girl whom he had helped had a timid smile tugging at her lips. Her chestnut hair was brushed back into a small ponytail, where a few strands had strayed from their binds and brushed down against the shoulders of her black-colored robes. Beside her, the redheaded brother held a large grin. "How are you feeling?"

Raephin gave a small, lopsided smile in return. "Like shit."

"If you think _you_ feel like shit," Roth chuckled as he tapped the top of his head with an index finger. "I'll tell you, I've got one hell of a headache." Beside him, Ryland shook her head, though the same smile was still planted on her lips.

Raephin was surprised to see the two, but was even more shocked to see the male standing beside his sister. "Wait—I thought he'd—?"

"—Died? Yeah, me too," Roth started, but Ryland quickly interrupted him; it seemed a habit of hers, and one that didn't die all too soon.

"He'd started breathing again after the light had vanished…" she began, taking on a thoughtful look. "After Sir Miki had ran forward and—"

"_Sir_ Miki?" Roth sneered, receiving a sour look from her brother.

"Will you stop? Don't show disrespect, okay? You don't have to deal—"

"Damn right I'll show disrespect! He bashed my fucking head in, Ry!"

"Shh!" The girl slapped her brother over the head lightly and turned to Raephin, continuing. "After Sir Miki had ran forward and offered himself."

"Offered himself…?" Raephin mumbled in question.

"If you didn't catch it," Roth took to explaining. "The body had every part completed…and all it needed was a soul. Miki obviously found this out, and thought that perhaps if he gave it willingly, something good would be in store for him when the future came."

"What happened to him?" Raephin looked from one to the other, trying to get his facts straight.

"Completely vanished," Ryland answered, before her brother had even opened his mouth. "Not even the body was found by the people who later came."

"I swear, that Miki…" Roth mumbled, rubbing his head and wincing all the same. "I think Lord Sammael seriously came just in time…kind of saved me, too, if you ask me. How else would I be able to breathe properly, if I'd been dead, an hour before?"

"So they discovered us…and Miki's nowhere to be found…and…Fifty-Two?" he was afraid to hear the results. Throughout the year, the boy had become somewhat of a friend to him, and to hear that perhaps he'd suffered would be a jolt to the soul.

"Didn't see him, either," Ryland gave a warm, reassuring smile. "But I do think he has gone off to a better place. We can't see him anymore, right? I suppose at the moment he's resting in peace, just like it should be." She was fumbling with something over her shoulder, and soon afterwards she had tossed him a black robe, much like theirs. "Come on."

"Huh?" Raephin almost dropped the heavy bit of clothing, turning it over in his hands. A light scowl crossed his face as he noticed the religious mark—Halo of the Sun, he supposed—which was sewed onto the chest part, identical to the siblings'.

"Put it on, and let's go," she replied simply, turning to leave.

He hastily shoved his arms through the sleeves and staggered to his feet, keeping at their heels as he walked down the hall. "Where are we going?"

Roth shot a glance over his shoulder, giving yet another silly grin. "We took a liking to you during the ritual's night. You're coming with us."

"Though don't think that will be an invitation to goof off and run around town setting mischief afoot," Ryland added sharply. "We said we'd look after you a while, so you better be on your best behavior possible. If I catch you doing the slightest thing—"

"Okay, okay, Sis," Roth rolled his eyes, waving a hand towards her. "I think he gets it."

The warmth of the sun hit Raephin's face as the entrance opened and they made their way down the front stairs. He felt a rush of excitement enter his chest, a freshening of the lungs, and a feeling that his life would suddenly be reborn. For some reason, it did, indeed, feel like a Beginning—not the Beginning they were necessarily talking about, but a Beginning for himself to start his path anew. "So," he looked around, happy to see that some of the floating fog had cleared up somewhat. "Where do you think your leader is now?"

"Oh," Roth let his shoulders sag into a light shrug as he shook his head, contemplating this momentarily before he said, "Perhaps he's in Paradise…the Paradise so many of us have been striving to reach all these years."

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Darkness…that's what he'd seen. A swirling of black and more black, but not a shade less or more. He'd been swept up in this invisible tornado, thrashed and thrown about, until he had landed here…but where was he, exactly? A dark environment still prevented him from seeing absolutely anything; he still was lingering in a realm of shadows.

The only difference he thought he might have noticed was that he was no longer planted safely on the ground. In fact, he felt like he was hanging upside down, because the hair, which liked to conceal his face from outside view, was no longer hanging over his eyes and nose. But he couldn't tell if he was hanging or flying or floating or standing. He couldn't tell if there was a ground, or a sky, or walls closing in on him for every second wasted.

And then he noticed that his eyes had been closed shut tightly.

Opening them gradually, as if cautious to find what lay behind, he took in the scene before him with awe. First, he strained his head to look up and notice that a rough, knotted rope bound his ankles, and his body was indeed dangling from below it. He was still wearing his raggedy robe, and nothing much had really changed. Other than the atmosphere, which seemed to glitter warmly with welcome. The feeling of Paradise caused a candle of ease to flick inside him.

There it was; that town...the town that he'd wandered in for what seemed like forever. The fog had lifted from its lazy drift, so that the sun's rays smiled upon all beneath its nest in the sky. He was dangling from a marvelous, gigantic oak, its majestic branches curled outwards so that the branches draped and touched ever so softly the surface of the glittering water nearby. Toluca Lake, he noted to himself, but with a sort of...red outline, faint but dark enough to catch.

He wondered, perhaps, what could be under that lake.

He lifted his gaze from the water, and observed the chattering people. All of them looked so joyous, minds in flight and lips moving to the instinct of just making noise. This was a kingdom of Paradise, was it not? And was he not in high position beside Lord Sammael, for giving up his very soul? Why didn't they notice him? Why didn't the people rush over to take him down? Ah, well...perhaps they merely did not see him at the moment.

Everything was so beautiful…so marvelous in its shining comfort…

…All except one thing.

…Make that two, ambling towards him with a horrendous appearance, and an atmosphere they dragged along which made shiver after shiver slide through his body uneasily.

It could have been the spears that made them look most intimidating…or perhaps the aprons splattered in red, which they wore with a strut of pride. It very well might have been the enormous, scarlet-colored pyramids placed on their shoulders for heads that made this pair look oddly off-putting and frightening. He didn't know. The only thing on his mind was to get out of these ropes, and get the hell out of here. This wasn't Paradise, no…this couldn't be Paradise…anything but Paradise…

One of the two halted just below him, raising its cocked head to examine him with eyeless curiosity. The tip of the blade poked at his ribs in examination, but had prodded a bit too hard and was sent through cloth and flesh, right through the other side where it burst out of his back with a sickening tear. He let out a gasping breath, body shaking in excruciating, brain-ripping pain. Its other pyramid-headed companion had come up to join its partner, now beginning to repeat the constant jabbing, where the skin split once more—only this time, the target had been the stomach—and so with the splashing of blood came several chunks of innards which flopped to the floor below.

His lips were overflowing with excessive amounts of thick blood; it gurgled and slapped to the ground below, but not a word could be said as he coughed out an attempted sentence. He could hardly keep his thinking straight; all he knew was that he could not die, and he wanted to die, and with these wounds he _should_ have died…so why wasn't he dead?

Raising his head, his eyes caught the nearby and indistinct picture of pure hope; goat-headed, winged, and staring straight towards him. Cross-legged, his Lord was rested upon a seat of twisted limbs and faces, all of which were disgustingly sticking out from every direction possible. The marred bodies were piled atop one another, coming up from out of the water and building up a tower—or royal chair, for the highest to lounge on top.

_Lord Sammael!_

He could see amusement in his Lord's eyes; tease that he could not understand.

_Lord Sammael…please…_

If a goat could curl its lips in a mocking smirk, would Lord Sammael do just that?

…_Help me…can't you see I'm…_

Why wouldn't his Lord move forward to let him down…?

_My soul belongs to you, my Lord, forever…forever, forever…help me, will you? Help me, help me…I beg of you, Lord Sammael, I'm hurt…help me… _


End file.
